Objectivity
by wearwind
Summary: One shot, second part of Mel's Trilogy  sequel to Neutrality , F!Hawke. It keeps raining; Fenris is determined to keep his mind logic and calm about Hawke, but then, when he is given one more chance, he has to decide - is it worth it?


_A/N: The Hawke character that has been used to write that one-shot is not my own. She belongs to Gabulinka, a worderful DA fandom artist. You can find her page at the adress Gabulinka dot deviantart dot com.  
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_Also, the illustration for the story (which was an inspiration for writing it) can be found in her gallery. It's called "Hold Me Tight"._

_It's all because of you, Gabs :3_

**Objectivity**

_**part two of Mel's trylogy**_

It was raining when he was heading down to Lowtown and then Darktown, seeking Hawke. Dark, wet mud was splashing against his bare feet, he felt his long – _too long, damn, again, – _white hair gluing to his neck, water slipping on his face, making him blink.

Rain. Rain had been always bringing him freedom since he could recall his broken damaged memories.

He remembered moans - then screams - then husky begging mercy when they had been cutting his skin with cold, ruthless precision along his toes, feet, calves, knees, thighs, hips, then - he had been screaming so loudly that they had pushed a rag into his mouth. He had bitten it in despair, remembered that taste of dirty fabric, mixed with the salt and copper of his own blood when they had reached his neck - he'd been nothing more than wild animal, driven mad from the pain and - and fear of the more pain. _Tap, tap, tap. _He stepped into a puddle; mud splashed against the brown, stooping walls.

That pain had come.

They had filled his wounds with lyrium.

He rarely thought about it - he was bitter enough even without constant reminding of that. But to that was linked his feeling of - something he could never forget.

Another puddle. There was something incredibly refreshing in stepping into them with all weight he possessed. _Splash._

When they had been done with him and he'd been thrown out the laboratory with his mind empty and blind, not knowing anything except the _end of pain_, it had been raining.

He had felt the_ raindrops_ –

- raindrops slipping down his naked, aching, spoiled body.

He'd felt... relief.

It had been extinguishing the flames burning on his skin.

He'd lost himself in that overwhelming feeling of - he hadn't known - it had been like he'd felt the world have been born all again, all new, all pure and fresh - all _rainy_, with those blessed drops slipping through his bleeding fingers, his shaved head, his skull bared and weak, his damaged neck and chest, his stomach and legs covered by his own blood and still fiery lyrium, and as he had been fallen on his knees and arms, thrown as the broken toy of the Tevinter torturers - he'd stood up.

_Rain. _

Rain had been all above, all around. Rain - wet, soft, drops of heavenly tears, bringing him life again.

He had never seen the rain - he had never felt the rain. He had never lived. It was all new. All strange.

_He_ had been new.

Since that reborn by the rain it'd been so long, but the gentle touch of raindrops always reminded him of that relief, that freedom of pain they'd brought him that day his life had begun.

He blinked; one more drop dripped down his cheek. It was warm; when it reached his lips, he licked it without thinking and with sudden surprise he realized that it was _salt._

_-/-  
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When he had firstly heard the dwarf greeting Bethany as "Sunshine", he hadn't given a fig about it. But then he'd used to watch Hawke sisters as they'd worked together and a strange, but not surprising at all conclusion had come - if Bethany was a Sunshine, then Melinda was a Rain.

She was as graceful and delicate as a raindrop, fought like a thunderstorm, her eyes were brown as warm wet earth spilled by clear water from above. And as the clouds overshadow the sun, Melinda overshadowed Bethany. Though she wasn't pretty in that simple, nearly _vulgar_ way as her mage sister was. He supposed that not everyone could appreciate that cute, silent beauty of her young face; that smile, which was mostly joyful and clear as the spring rain, but sometimes… turned into the battle violence of destroying storm. He _saw_ that face too - he knew that for most people she was just sweet Champion, a princess from a fairytale, but he despised that plain look. She was more than just a princess. She was... the _rain_.

The dancing, refreshing the world, rebirthing rain. Bringing the freedom, purity and new world order. Those delicate raindrops she was had a strength to change destiny.

But judging her, he had to remain objective. That... _emotions_ he felt for her, all affair of their one night and his run... it had no right to influence his choices and opinions about her. No right. He had to see her drawbacks in balance; and he tried to seek them, but every time he sought, he failed. Not that she was perfect. He know she wasn't. But all her possible bad features was... justified, he couldn't deny it anyway.

Her only weakness was her family and companions. But he doubted that he is the one who can blame her for that; he has that weakness too, one of his many_, and it was her_. He had tried to push her away, but she hadn't let herself be pushed. She remained by his side; his attempts to break it were too weak and unsuccessful that he'd had to admit for himself that he hadn't wanted it anyway. As he never resisted to walk out when there was a chance for a rain. That cold, wet drops brought him a chance to feel completely free again; it was for him more than Andrastianish confession, it was like a sacred ritual letting him gain purity again. He never broke it.

And he couldn't find a strength to leave his place at her side.

But it was out of logic again. There also were _objective,_ plain, certain reasons he was with her. He owed her his life, freedom and mansion. He'd hurt her every possible way and she hadn't turn her back to him - which was safe, because it meant that there was no way to turn her against him. Also, she was a great help. Even if now he was wealthy enough to hire warriors helping him slay Danarius, even if he sought, any way he couldn't find someone better than her. She was the Champion. It was safe to had a Champion fighting his enemies.

Still, there were nights all that he wanted was to run away as far as he could.

Still, there were nights that he needed her at his side, trembling frantically at the vivid memories of her delicate skin and delightful lips; her touch that had driven him mad from pure passion, an emotion that he hadn't known he was able to feel; and right then made him feel worse than dead.

He remembered madness. Fury. Hatred. Odd, bitter, evil satisfaction coming from killing his torment. And for one moment it had just disappeared - when she had kissed him for the first time.

Her damp lips had given him birth – as the raindrops had done, long, long years ago.

_Objectivity, Fenris. Objectivity._

He was a man – even if Hawke used to tease him, using his wine affection and constant complaining against him. Bah. And as a man, he had needs. It was inappropriate and pitiful that he had used Hawke to release the tension that was in him for so long, enormously increased with violent emotions he felt after killing Hadriana – but it was… understandable. That was a warning to control himself better. Involving Hawke in this had been a great mistake which had hurt both him and her, a painful lesson that he'd learned – was a moment of joy worth years of pain?

No. No, it wasn't.

Despite of her being an only woman he'd ever known that close, he'd never regarded intimate contact as something worth his attention. After everything he'd saw at Danarius' mansion he doubted that it was anything that could surprise him in physical way; he had seed men and women tangled in erotic embraces every possible way, making sighs and moans that he'd found disturbing and disgusting. But is had never been something important, something _touching _him. Among Tevinter magisters erotism was cheap; it was just another entertainment, no better than drinking wine or watching tortured slaves. It'd been a long time since he'd realized that intimacy could be treated another way; with tenderness and emotion, softness which denied its physical, battle-connected features; with… that word which he tried to avoid so carefully, but it always returned.

_Love._

_-/-  
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He stopped for a while, standing still in the pouring rain, his hair dripping wet and darkened to the color of filthy gray; he suddenly could feel the mud under his dirty feet, soft drops slipping through the hard steel of his armor, touching his bare skin which was all covered in rain already. The street was empty, dark and shady that it could be everywhere in the world – every city he knew had its slums. How had the world gone mad that he'd ended up in this particular town?

Was that because of… _love?_

He definitely had to stop that ridiculous fear of simple word.

It was just a concept, no better than beloved _justice _of that filthy, self-righteous, irritating abomination. Something mankind had dreamed to light a hope of ideal world. Something which was used by spirits and demons to tempt people as weak as the Darktown mage.

Ha. Darktown. He went down by the makeshift lift, the turnstile creaked as he turned it with slow, hard moves. Tangle of roads and paths, stairs and footbridges, rotting boards and filthy doors… Hawke always found the ugliest and dirtiest places on Thedas to explore. The worse were surroundings, the brighter her pretty face shone. He knew that he would never forget her eyes glowing with strong light in her dirty, exhausted features as she had led their betrayed fellowship through the Deeproads.

But he was distracting again.

He had to focus on what he wanted. And he wanted revenge – as always. His hired spies had informed him about another huge amount of Tevinter slavers outside the city. He wouldn't have bothered Hawke with such things – usually just telling a word to Aveline was enough – but this time it looked like there was no proof to claim their guilt and thus no guard intervention. He thought that Aveline was a good woman, defending his business as well as legally possible, although she just didn't understand that _being a Tevinter soldier _was a enough proof. And reason to kill.

So he had to do this on his own. _Well, not literally_, he corrected himself immediately, both amazed and horrified at once how having Hawke as his companion was included in "on his own" phrase. From objective point of view, it was justified – she was a warrior, a very well-trained one, and she seemed to read his mind in the battle. They cooperated as one ideal killing machine. That was a perfect reason to think of her as the piece of "his own".

Also, he knew that she wouldn't reject his ask. If there was one thing she hated more than slavers, it was free slavers. It was the part of her he could understand _perfectly_.

Too bad it was the only part he could.

-/-

Bodahn, another man owing Hawke a great deal – Fenris could swear that almost everyone in that blasted city did nowadays – had told him that mistress had gone to the clinic. It meant – mage's territory. For some reason, nothing could please Fenris more than the thought of coming down to abomination and taking Hawke away from his dirty paws.

It was disturbing to see how _close _she happened to be with abomina- the sharp clash of steel told him that his fists clenched unwillingly, he hardly noticed it. It was _not _a subject he wanted to think of. Because when he did, he felt that inside his chest was burning a furious rage which did nothing for objectivity.

The clinic. He derived lots of joy from the fact _he _had the mansion in Hightown and _mage _had only a filthy Darktown hole. Not to mention that luckily, it was only one of them who was Hawke's neighbour and it obviously wasn't the abomination.

The yellow lantern hanging at the doors of dirty building – or rather a shack – was glowing encouragingly at the top of stairs he was going up. Air around was dark and misty, with every breath he took into his lungs the mix of awful smells he could hardly feel now, fog and moisture. He reached the top step of the stairs and went near the door, trying to hear the sounds inside. Voices. Good. That meant he hadn't wandered here for vain.

"Hawke?"

Door opened and then closed so quickly and violently that he could hardly notice the slim silhouette storming out of the clinic. "Are you here? Your dwarven servant told me-"

… _Touch._

For just one moment he was painfully aware of chest pushing him hardly, of arms seeming to strangle him – and he raised his arms with one instinctive urge to kill the enemy. But – it was the scent of rain and damp hair and armor-polish and _tears _and…

His fists unclenched slowly.

Melinda. Melinda Hawke in his arms.

He embraced her softly but firmly, standing still as she pushed her arms around his neck, holding him tight. Her body shivered in his hands and with a surprise Fenris realized that mighty Champion was _crying._

What could be… How… A million thoughts was chasing through his mind as he hugged her more tightly, with care and softness he hadn't know he possessed. The raindrops were falling on her hair, marking her forehead and cheeks with damp tracks, slipping along her neck, disappearing under the edges of her armor. The same raindrops fell on his mouth, making him lick his lips nearly nervously; that warmth in his tight embrace was something he had never expected, yet it felt so familiar to him – not a passion this time, not a desperate need to take out his emotions, but a feeling that has nothing with him and everything with her. It felt so… right to hold her, leaning his head against her hair, brushing it gently with his nose. Suddenly he seemed to forget that the touch he initiated was _banned, _was definitely inappropriate. She needed it. She was still shivering.

A quiet cry made him stroke her back gently. He did that again, his eyes half-closed, amazed that he was allowed to do such a thing. And again he brushed the gentle curve of her spine, her back hunched, her chest against his. It couldn't be real. It was – _tap, tap, tap – _it was just the rain. It was just a dream.

"You're wet." Her quiet voice trembled a little as she obviously tried to calm down.

Well, maybe not. He highly doubted that he could ever imagine something that abstractive.

"Of course I am wet, Hawke", he replied calmly. "It is raining, in case you haven't noticed yet".

He made another gentle stroke and she cuddled into him harder, as he was her stronghold helping her regain her strength. That thought woke a strange feeling in his stomach. She was… vulnerable now. Whatever had happened, she'd ran into him and though it probably wasn't a conscious decision, she was here now with him to comfort her, with him trusted to help her…

"But I'm less wet than you", she insisted like a little child.

"That is probably because you were inside for a while, Hawke", he whispered to her ear, as if he was telling her the greatest secret on Thedas. It was odd feeling. But her body seemed to relax in his embrace, so his stupid remark had probably worked.

"Maybe", she said quietly, leaning against his chest, her body loose and defenseless. "Your hair's dripping", she added.

"It is", he agreed. "But I will tell you a secret. Yours is going to drip too."

She made a strange sound between laugh and cry. "A pity."

"Indeed." That was probably the stupidest conversation he had ever heard, not to mention attending it. It was horrible hearing her voice like that, seeing her so hurt made him feel an urge to smash an axe on the head of someone responsible for that.

_Abomination. _He froze as the obvious conclusion dawned in his mind, making his hands stop gentle brushing her back. She tightened her embrace around his neck, clearly wanting him to do something, to show that he really cared. The ruthless fury flamed inside him, his marking began to glow with soft, sinister light.

"Shall I kill him? Tell me and it is done."

"N-no!", she protested, her voice suddenly very conscious. "No, Fenris. It's not a way."

"What that _monster _did to you?", he nearly growled, his claws clenching into sharp steel fists. "If he hurt you…"

"Aw!" She squirmed and he removed his hands from her shoulders, suddenly feeling like a hopeless fool. "He did nothing for me, I just… I'm sorry."

She tried to pull away, but he didn't let her. His embrace was strong enough to resist her weak attempts to break free; finally she gave up and placed her head on his chest, sending sparks of odd warmth through all his body. "I'm really sorry, Fenris."

"You don't have to be", he said simply, his rage almost covered by that strange feeling, but still burning. "I came here for you only."

Then was a long silence. He loosed his embrace, still unsure if she would want to push him away; moved his arms slightly on her back again to brush a small, soft place between her shoulder blades. She just sighed and he wondered what it meant, still overwhelmed by her scent and the rain covering everything he saw. Her skin was damp and glistening in the light of clinic's lantern; as he had just said, her braid started to drip, her hair gluing her head just to emphasize the fine lines of her cheekbones, jaw and neck. She closed her eyes and almost seemed to fall asleep with her head on his chest; only the flinching of her eyelashes while the raindrops touched them was a sign that she was still awake.

Fenris realized that there, in filthy street of Darktown, in front of the door of his most hated rival, in the pouring rain covering everything with a wet veil of drops, with water slipping through his armor and his hair dripping, he was _happy._

It was freedom, over and over again in the rain which had given him another chance.

"I can't believe he could be so cruel", she whispered quietly after a long time. He nearly growled when he realized that _mage _had just broken his blissful moment even without his own presence there.

"What did he do?", he asked in more neutral tone. This time she hesitated – he could feel her body tense in his arms and it made him nervous and oddly satisfied at once – but answered sincerely.

"He was furious because of his friend's death. I think he didn't quite realize what he was saying. Though I felt I'd punch him… I'm starting to understand. I wasn't fair to him too."

"What did he do?", he repeated harshly. He didn't want to hear how she pitied that abomination. She was innocent enough to think that _she _caused the problem which beginning was obvious at mage's side. But it was him who she'd sought for comfort and help; well, maybe not exactly sought, but… It was his duty to punish that wicked abomination. He had every right.

She shook her head; bad idea, especially since his chest plate wasn't soft at all. She hit her cheek against hard steel and groaned. Fenris forced his hands to stay on her back and not to move to touch her face.

"He… told me that I was indecisive and I could not make decision early enough to save people."

"Bullshit", he told in indisputable tone. "You are not crying because of that."

"But I am", she said quietly and that unbelievable pain in her voice made his guts shiver. "I shouted at him because he tried to use it to convince me to take a side, but besides that he was right."

"You are what?" Fenris blinked. "You are really crying because he offended you? How reliable of you." He couldn't resist. She had reacted to that abomination way too strongly. She should have ignore him and his pathetic attempts to make her his ally in that winless war he tried to start. She shouldn't have _cared _about anything he said. And her cry was very, very, _very _rare and Fenris could remind only one night when there was tears in her eyes.

The night after her mother was murdered.

_Indecisive. Unable to save people. _

When he finally understood, he hugged her so strongly that she gasped in surprise, held so close that he could feel her heart pounding a familiar rhythm.

"He blamed you for your mother's death", he whispered in her ear with his voice rough and deep and she only nodded slightly, hardly able to move in his tight embrace. "Melinda. You do not believe in it." It wasn't a question, but a fiery, indisputable announcement.

"I do not", she agreed quietly. He frowned.

"And you are not saying 'but' right now."

"I am", she said and flinched as he clenched his clawed fingers on her shoulders. "Fenris, I-"

"You are_ not_", he repeated, stressing the last word while looking straightly at that deep brown honey eyes which were damp now both from tears and rain. "You had none to do more. And do not dare saying that you are responsible for her death. Only a fool like that mage could ever say that."

"But", she flinched again as he pressed his fingers harder against her shoulders, but continued, "he was right saying that I can't make a decision. When I fight, I fight. Nothing is more important, I'm a warrior and so are you, you should understand it, but when it comes to choices… I'm afraid, Fenris", she confessed finally. "I'm afraid I'd hurt someone which doesn't deserve it. I'm afraid that it would influence the world much more than I want it."

"You've already made a choice", he said harshly as her sincere words sounded inside his body again and again. "You're the objective Champion."

"Objectivity", she said slowly. "That means I don't think for myself anymore."

Does it? Fenris froze. Was objectivity a disown of any personal thoughts or desires? Yes, it was. He had known it before. So why it came so hard when he thought about it now and when was created that odd, bitter feeling of – _disappointment?_

"I'm afraid, Fenris", she whispered into his chest again and he embraced her even more tightly, trying to understand that storm of emotions which was inside him. "Some decisions are so hard to make. I know I'll make them when the time is up, but right now I am still afraid and… Hold me…" She shivered, tears again in her eyes as she lowered her head to cuddle it in his chest.

_Some decision are so hard to make._

He knew that it wasn't only because of her mother. The mage had shaken her; yelling and remorse were only the signs of something greater which had to grow up inside her for a very long time; her sweetness and softness denied those thoughts, but he _knew _that denied ones came to torture a thinker even more in the least expected moment. Her neutrality and objectivity was always such a statement, even if mages and templars were about to fight each other even more often nowadays. She'd grown as a great authority in Kirkwall; people saw that Orsino and Meredith are extremes, each one in its own way, as the Champion was always a wise, responsible, incredibly strong woman. More and more decisions. More and more influences. _Indecisive. Unable to save people. _He felt an urge to reach the doors of clinic, grasp mage's hair and smash his head with his bare feet. It was never a way to hurt her more.

_Objectivity means that I don't think for myself anymore._

He knew that she hadn't meant it, but… was that it? His… desperate attempts to find an objective reason to be with her, unable to admit that… that…

_That what?_

That he cared of her. That she was one and only person who could run into him and go free without being killed in a very violent way. That he discovered she had a tiny green sparks in her irises and he didn't wanted to share this knowledge with anyone else.

"I'm afraid", she whispered once again, her voice slightly louder than the sound of slipping and splashing drops. Rain was everywhere. He was embracing the rain which knew that it would have to turn into a storm – and didn't wanted it, but accepted the consequences of its own choice. Choice of the Champion.

He held her tight in the rain, unable to confess that he was afraid as well.

_-/-_

_A/N: The last part is being written. Keep in touch. :3 _

_Please read and review. You don't have to be logged-in for that; just click the "Review that Chapter" link below. Thank you for your time._


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